


Something Red

by Kadorath



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Aphrodisiacs, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, I don't know how to tag that, Licking, Monsters, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Overstimulation, POV Third Person, Rimming, There's a monster with lots of hands, briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23510461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadorath/pseuds/Kadorath
Summary: A hapless security guard is violated by an eldritch abomination.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 63





	Something Red

It was another dull night, one in an ongoing series of dull nights since he had taken this job, guarding the tiny, esoteric collection of an eccentric millionaire no one cared about, or had even heard of. “Guarding” was a strong word to use, as all his job required him to do was to wander around the gardens of the property, waving his flashlight at would-be trespassers, but it was the word that his interviewer and future boss had used, and so it was also the word he used. And he soon found that even that description oversold his importance, as no one ever even bothered to come anywhere near the place during the day, let alone at night. In fact, this night had already been leagues more exciting than the nights before, as fate had generously granted him the opportunity to escort a quiet, kindly-looking old woman off the property. What she had been doing there was none of his concern; he was just happy for the distraction.

But that had provided only a momentary relief from his boredom, so he continued to wander the grounds, counting the stars and seeing what new animals he could cast on the wall with just his hands and his flashlight, anything to distract himself. He was fresh out of high school and his parents had insisted that he get some sort of job while he waited to move away for college. Being a security guard had sounded interesting at the time, and he had found someone that was willing to hire someone as underqualified as him.

He didn’t cut the most imposing figure. It was quite the wonder that he had the job he did, seeing as how slight he was, and so he reasoned that either his employer’s eccentricities extended far beyond the strangeness of his collection or that he had just been looking for anyone who was willing to make the trip out to such an obscure part of town and spend their night taking up space and acting as a vandal-deterrent. But regardless of the reason, he was more than glad to have the job, especially one that paid so well. And besides, he didn’t need to be big. He had been given a gun (which didn’t seem like a wise idea to him, but who was he to question it), and he felt that that would be more than enough to scare off anyone more threatening than an old lady or a teenage delinquent. At least, he hoped it would be. He didn’t really know how to use a gun, hadn’t even fired one before, but that too seemed to be of no concern to his employer.

And it was no concern of his, either, as he meandered along the dirt path that led around to the back of the building. He kicked the dust up to watch the particles swirl in the beam of his flashlight, he hummed, out of tune and out of time, a song he only quarter remembered, and he attempted to trick his brain into playing rock paper scissors against itself. He did everything except his job, so sure was he that his job was really no job at all, and so it was a long time before he finally became aware that he was being, very unsubtly, followed.

The first thing that he did happen to notice was the smell. It crept up on him slowly, but once he noticed it, he couldn’t smell anything else. It was like nothing he had smelt before. It was sweet and salty and tangy and bitter and warm all at once. It was the first glass of wine at the beginning of a promising third date and it was the seventh beer of an unsuccessful night out. It was so many things, all at once, and when he finally noticed it rattling around inside his head, he was overcome with a rush of emotion. Not any one emotion, but a flurry of many, too tightly intertwined to tease apart. The heady musk filled his nostrils and stopped him dead in his tracks.

The second thing he noticed was the sound. It was grotesque. A simple squelching, nothing nearly as complex as the scent of it. It came from something inhuman, something horrifying, something that he certainly did not want to see, and so he whipped around to see what he was dealing with.

A mass of something red. Raw meat was his first thought before his brain finally caught up to what his eyes were seeing and began to properly pick out shapes. A hand, a leg, a torso, an arm, and other less than decent things. A swarming colony of parts, possibly not all human, but all vivid red. Despite the distance, he seemed to be able to make out the smallest details, from the tendons flexing on the backs of hands to the thick green vein that made its way down every calf, standing out sharply against the red of the muscle. The shock of the sight sent him into a momentary stupor before a rush of terror tore him free and sent him screaming and running before he had begun to even understand what he had just witnessed.

As he ran, he heard the creature squish and pop, suddenly at an alarming frequency and so came to the natural conclusion that _Oh God it’s chasing me and I’m going to die._ His legs pushed harder than they ever had before, but he could already tell that he didn’t stand a chance in hell, that he couldn’t run worth a damn and that he _should’ve just been a waiter_. He desperately pawed for his gun as he sprinted through the dark and when he found it, he whirled around and fired wildly at where he hoped, needed, that monster to be.

And to his immense, indescribable relief the gun did fire, and he did manage to hit the creature. His heart flipped with joy when he saw the creature shudder and stop at his attack. The wound he had inflicted was swiftly covered up by the crook of a knee, but he knew it hand landed true. The creature had stopped dead in its tracks. He fired a second shot, just to be sure, and then a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, the whole clip, all the while backpedalling in a cautious retreat. When he had finally run out of ammo, fumbled around with a second clip for a bit before a creeping desire to just _get away_ overtook him and he just lobbed the gun at the creature and turned to sprint away.

He thought about his friends, and how he might possibly tell this story to them; he thought about how he needed to grab a camera and come back first thing in the morning to get a picture if the creature was still there; and he thought about he definitely, positively, needed to quit his job. He was so lost in thought about the future that he almost missed the particularly loud squelch the creature made as it ripped free from its sedentary position and began to barrel towards him. Almost, but the sound was hard to miss when the only other sound in the garden was his own footsteps, and so he didn’t. Not that it mattered. In a matter of seconds, the creature covered the substantial distance that he had put between them, and he could hardly manage a scream.

Instead he let out more of a strangled whimper as he crashed into the soft grass beneath him. Immediately the creature was on top of him. Two warm, wet hands grabbed his and pinned them far above his head, as another pair of hands grabbed his ankles and anchored him in place. The weight of the creature on top of him folded his knees in, so that his butt touched his calves, while the hands on his hands stretched as far as he could go, putting a small arch in his back and restricting any significant movement. He struggled and thrashed against its grip until he felt all its hands constrict around him, and he understood well enough that if he didn’t stay put that this monster would shatter his bones. His mind raced, frantically jumping from one idea to another as he tried to puzzle out how he was about to be killed. He eventually concluded that he was certainly about to be pulled apart, limb by limb, and incorporated into this hideous mass. He screamed and shouted and shrieked, hoping, _begging_ , that someone would hear him and save him from that awful fate, until the creature put an end to that too and slapped a hand over his mouth.

He quivered helplessly under the creature, surrounded by hands and legs and thighs and that which resides between thighs, in some strange, twisted embrace. Hands pushed up his shirt and fingers ghosted down his bare sides in a way that made him shiver and squeal. He had always been too sensitive for his own good, and now he was humiliating himself as this monster took its sweet time preparing to kill him. As… something slimy traced up his spine and a set of hands pressed a little too suggestively against his hips, his confusion began to grow. Why was he being taunted like this, why was it waiting so long to just get it over with and rips his arms from his sockets and tear his body in half by the legs like a wishbone!? If it was going to kill him, then it should just kill him now and do it quickly!

Then, as a trio of hands danced over his stomach and his chest, he heard a voice. It was barely more than a whisper, but he heard it right in his ear. It sounded like a chorus of people, all speaking uncomfortably out of sync and it promised horrible things, and he knew that this creature was speaking to him. It told him what it was going to do, what it was going to make him do, over and over, until he was spent, exhausted, and _satisfied_. It taunted him for his feeble attempts to escape, and it told him that it would allow him to try whatever he wanted, but that by the end of the night he wouldn’t be struggling so hard, not to escape at least. And, with its horrible promises ringing in his ear, the hands on his back, on his sides, on his stomach, on his _hips_ , took on a new context, and he sobbed into the palm over his mouth as he began to struggle again, not for his life, but for his dignity and his sanity. He heard the creature cackle, a quiet cacophony. He let out a muffled, shrill cry as the hands redoubled their teasing, and he fought desperately to bring his own hands back down to defend his body, but the monster’s grip was strong, and it gave no ground. It only relented when it pulled his shirt off up over his head, but it was too quick to afford him enough time to save himself.

It took its hand from his mouth, and even as he began to scream for mercy, it swore that he would soon be begging for more. The creature pressed a hand firmly into the crotch of his pants, and he could feel its warmth on his skin. He shrieked, but it turned into a humiliating moan that he cut off just a little too late as the creature ground its palm in a circle. It began to nibble at his ear, and he could hear it chuckle at each of his gasps. It taunted him, told him that it could tell how much he wanted it, and he shut his eyes tight and shook his head vigorously, even though he knew it was a hollow gesture; he was hard as a rock, and he knew that it could tell. He shook with humiliation, mortified that his body would betray him and terrified that his mind might do the same.

He felt the creature tug off his belt and work its many fingers under his waistband. It began to pull down his pants and undergarments but was soon stopped as it reached the place where his butt met his ankles. In this awkward position it couldn’t manage to pull his pants down far enough to expose his intimacy, and he thanked God that he was allowed to keep that last semblance of dignity, and then cursed him for allowing such a creature to exist at all. But his prayers were too hasty, as he felt something sharp (a tooth, he hoped) press up against the exposed part of his upper thigh and then shear down to slice his lower garments, allowing the creature to peel them away from his sweaty body like a second skin and leave them in tatters at his ankles. His cock, freed from its confines, stood at full attention, following the slight curve of his arched body. Despite his best efforts, despite the horror and humiliation of it all, he could not will himself soft. All he could do was futilely struggle against the creature and sob in shame and swear that he didn’t want this, he didn’t want any of this, but he knew his words were meaningless.

The creature wasted no time, swiftly wrapping a particularly warm hand in a tight grip around the base of his penis. His butt jerked up against the weight of the creature on top of him, managing to push it up ever so slightly in a feeble attempt to free himself from its grasp, but it simply used that motion against, allowing him to pull away until the tip of his cock rested in its palm, before it clamped back down, trapping him with his butt raised and grinding its slick palm against his slit. He screamed, not in terror, but as an involuntary response to the overwhelming stimulation. A torment that was made worse by the slime that had coated his cock when the creature’s hand slid up his length, which on his body had left a slight tingle, but applied so liberally to his most sensitive place made his nerves crackle and buzz with pleasure. He thrashed and cried and groaned as, in a matter of seconds, he was driven out of his mind.

It brought its hand back down his length with an agonizingly slow stroke, pulling his foreskin the rest of the way back over his glans. It gave him a sharp squeeze and twist before sliding back up to tease his tip. It chose a different focus each time, using a thumb to massage his frenulum in gentle circles, running its fingers underneath his protruding head, pressing a callous palm against his slit and grinding in a circle, before stroking back down to repeat the process. Its grip on his hips loosened just enough to allow him to try to desperately dance away from the hand tormenting him, which he did despite knowing that it was hopeless, and that the monster relished his struggles. It was a relentless onslaught of pleasure, and no matter how he moved his hips, the hands followed him, making him shiver and shake under their merciless teasing. Hands continued to tease under his arms and across his stomach and against his thighs and there was always a mouth, gently nibbling on his ear and whispering words he could hardly comprehend, but that still made him blush with shame, he couldn’t take it anymore and the pleasure was agonizing it was all just _too much!_

The creature was polishing his tip like a doorknob when he came, rubbing its palm all around his vulnerable glans, and it wasn’t merciful enough to stop its relentless assault when he started. Instead, it brought another hand up to his shaft and began to briskly stroke him along with the hand at his head, milking him for all it could as he convulsed helplessly. His back arched farther down, and his hands fought wildly to free themselves, but they couldn’t, and so all he could do was thrash pathetically in the creature’s grip as he painted the grass beneath him with streaks of white. He moaned and grunted and shouted, and by the time he came down from his seemingly interminable climax he was still babbling, his head resting on its side in the grass, his eyes staring unfocused into the darkness of the garden, bleary with tears.

He lay there for a short, trembling in a stupor, while one of the monster’s many voices whispered praise into his ear, congratulating him for giving in, for surrendering to it, and as much as he wanted to deny it, he felt far too weak to keep fighting.

His daze was broken when something shiny was dropped onto the ground in front of him. It glinted faintly in the dim ray of his discarded flashlight and, for the moment, it gave him something else to focus on. He blinked the tears out of his eyes so that he could make out the object before him.

A bullet, that much he could easily tell, but in his fugue-like afterglow he couldn’t fathom why the monster had dropped it there. He wasn’t given much time to think it over, as the hands soon resumed their work. A hand came up to cup his balls, gently massaging his sack, rolling his two fragile orbs between its slender fingers. The hand at the head of his penis left to tease his bellybutton while the hand on his shaft stroked him slowly. It was far gentler than the treatment he had just received, but to his oversensitive, post-climax body, it was torture.

He wiggled his hips in a desperate attempt to free himself, until the creature retightened its grip, denying him even that freedom. With his arms stretched out in front of him, his ankles anchored to the grass, and his hips locked in place, he could hardly move at all. He couldn’t even turn his head back far enough to look at himself, to look at what was being done to him. He was too exhausted to scream and shout, his voice had broken. He let out agonized groans that melted into pathetic whimpers. He begged it to stop, again and again, and his begging was quiet and raspy and defeated. He was still hard, despite it all, could still feel that insidious pleasure as the creature worked him over, and he hated himself for it.

The mouth at his ear left to give him a gentle kiss on his back, right between his shoulder blades, before slowly dragging its tongue down his spine. It was swiftly replaced by another mouth, to fill his head with taunts, promises, and obscenities. The mouth at his back reached the end of its journey, planting a kiss on his tailbone, before beginning a new journey, a slow, languorous lick down between his cheeks to his perineum, paying special attention to his virgin hole as it passed by. The alien feeling renewed his struggles, making him keen and arch his back. Eventually, the mouth completed its trip, leaving him slick for the hand that crept up from its position at his balls to tease the rim of his hole. That hand’s former place was promptly taken by a hand that was far less gently with its massaging, eliciting a series of especially terrified whimpers from the boy.

His sensitivity was fading, his body was beginning to respond to the ministrations of the monster again, he could tell. He knew that it was going to make him come again, and he knew that it was not going to stop after he did. He desperately wished that this was all just a terrible nightmare, but he could tell that it wasn’t, so instead he tried to pretend he was somewhere else, to dream himself away from this monster. It almost worked, but every time he was just about to convince himself that this was all happening to someone else and he was just at home, eating dinner with his family, a sharp bite or a particularly tight stroke would shatter the illusion and bring him gasping back to reality. So he just buried his face in the grass and wept.

And it was a good thing that he did. The creature abruptly buried a finger in his ass, its slickness allowing it to slide down to the knuckle with little resistance. It was only a small mercy that the creature couldn’t see his expression at that moment, for it would have surely mocked him for it, but he was desperate for any victory he could get. It gave him little time to adjust before it added a second finger and crooked them down to press directly against his prostate. His cock jerked harshly in response as a bolt of pleasure shot through him, and he let out an unmistakable cry, and for that he was mocked.

The other hands picked up speed as the creature began a relentless assault on his prostate. In the dead quiet of the garden the shameful _shlicks_ of the hands pleasuring him were the only sounds he could hear, besides his own desperate groans and pants. He was going to come again, he could feel it, and he dreaded it. His cock still ached from the first time and he knew it would be worse the second time and he didn’t want to give in to the creature again, but he couldn’t stop himself, he couldn’t ignore the growing pleasure, it was going to happen he was helpless there was no –

His eyes rolled back, and he moaned like a whore, but he couldn’t help it. The creature pressed hard against his prostate with his first spurt and it felt like it was violently forcing the semen out of him. He tried to lift his head up, but the creature grabbed his hair and pushed his face back into the dirt. He could feel it shudder above him as it jerked him off wildly, flinging his semen everywhere. He tried to lift his head up to breath, but it wouldn’t allow him to. Pleasure tore through him, even as he grew dizzy from lack of air, and his mind didn’t know what to focus on. By the time his orgasm had finished and the creature let his head go, he was just on the verge of passing out. He turned his head onto its side and gasped for air.

Another bullet was dropped beside the first. It took a moment for his unfocused mind to register that it was there. As he lay there, staring at those two discarded bullets, puzzling over their purpose, he was struck with a sudden realization. The monster was taking its sick revenge on him for shooting it. It planned to force him to debase himself as many times as he had shot it. His heart did a little flip of relief. The creature wouldn’t torment him forever. He had something to cling on to. He was going to be freed, or killed, but either way he didn’t care, as long as he knew when it would all end. He just had to remember how many shots he had fired. It had been the whole clip, so, assuming each shot had made its mark, that would mean… Twelve bullets. Twelve orgasms. His heart sank back down. He had just made it through two, he wouldn’t be able to endure ten more. But that didn’t matter to the creature. He simply had to anyways.

He began to plead again, as the creature resumed its violations, apologizing desperately to the monster, begging for forgiveness. It chuckled, a sultry chorus of laughter, and ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. No, it was too late for apologies. He was lucky he couldn’t manage to reload; it saw him trying. He should be thankful for its mercy; it wouldn’t hold the attempt against him. But it was too late for apologies. Although, he should feel free to struggle, if he wished. It would love to feel him try.

* * *

He was approaching his eighth. He was exhausted. He had been on the verge of collapse for ages now, but every time he was just about to pass out the creature would claw him and bite him, and the pain would scatter his slumber.

It had transitioned from fingering him, replacing fingers with something almost certainly phallic, although he couldn’t look back to check. It was longer and thicker than the creature’s fingers, and its underside was lined with round, rigid nubs that ground relentlessly against his prostate as it fucked him, sending shivers of pleasure up his spine. For his fourth and fifth climax the creature had brought him off without touching his penis, and it praised him for being so sensitive and willing. He was too senseless to protest.

With a particularly rough twist, he was pushed over the edge once again. The intensity of it had not diminished since the first, but he no longer had the energy to struggle. His moans and whines went up a pitch and his thighs quivered, but those were the only obvious signs of his climax, even as the ecstasy of it crashed through his body and lashed at his mind. He was mostly dry now, a series of agonizingly intense contractions from his overworked muscles resulting in only a few pitiful drops of semen, dripping down to the cum-soaked soil beneath his trembling body. Another bullet added to the pile.

Finally, he went gone soft, and it seemed that, despite the creature’s best efforts, his body would not be responding any longer. He had hoped that it would realize that he was done and get bored. But then the hand in his hair pulled his head up, and something thick was forced passed his lips and down his throat. His eyes shot wide open from their droopy daze, and his body thrashed weakly as he gagged around it. It remained at the back of his throat for a few moments before it began to throb, and he felt something warm and tingly pouring down his throat to settle hot in his stomach. That heat began to spread, until his entire body was buzzing with pleasure. To his despair, he could feel his cock begin to stir again, and before long he was fully hard. The creature withdrew from his mouth as it resumed tormenting him, wrapping a hand around his now erect shaft and giving it a harsh squeeze, and he could only cough and sputter, even though all he wanted to do was scream.

* * *

The entrance to the building opened and out stepped a kindly old lady, a neat bundle of the collection’s books tucked under her arm. She had taken quite a while reading through that rich idiot’s library. He probably didn’t realize the weight of the knowledge some of his books held. But he didn’t have to worry about those books now. And luckily, she didn’t have to worry about time, not with… Ah, there it was. It was still quite dark out, and that poor guard’s flashlight must have gone out, but the vivid red flesh of her partner was hard to miss.

It appeared to be busy petting its victim, running its hands through his hair and down his sides. It was almost cute. Seemed the main event was over. She whistled, and the creature swiftly disengaged from its prey and came rolling up to her feet, reaching its hands out to grasp at the hem of her pants. She admonished it with a sharp _tsk_ and it backed off. Her pants were already drenched where they had been touched. She would have to dispose of them later. She began to

She strolled across the garden, up to the boy, the creature following closely behind. As her vision gradually adjusted to the dark, she began to take in the details. His knees were folded underneath him and his arms were outstretched, as if he were praying to the coming sunrise. His clothes had been torn beyond repair. Hopefully he knew someone he could trust to take him home. His head lay on its side, and when she leaned in close, she could see that he had been crying, and drooling, quite a bit. He was covered head to toe with a sickeningly sweet slime. He would want to wash that off quick, lest its effects become permanent. He was also covered by intermittent bites and scratches, but, so long as he took it easy, they wouldn’t scar (what a shame). Walking around to his rear, she could see that his hole gaped slightly, and that the creature’s own semen flowed in thick rivers down his thighs. If he unlucky he might get pregnant, and he certainly didn’t want that. His own cock hung limply between his legs, a thin string of come dripping down to connect him to a blade of grass beneath him.

Her master loved details, and he would certainly want to hear every detail of this, so she committed them to memory. Maybe she would paint them for him, if he wished. But that was for the future. For now, she had a haul of books to bring back, so she took one last glance, and she left, monster in tow behind her, squelching its way out of the garden.

**Author's Note:**

> What's a reasonable response to being attacked by a monster? I don't hecking know. Also I was too much of a coward to get this edited. Did I use too many commas? Grammarly seems to think so. Oh well, it's 3:40 AM and I want to post this.


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